


Eurydice

by Nary



Category: Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Frottage, Goodbyes, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mythology References, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13138755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: Pullo's seen Vorenus in all sorts of moods - angry (often), tired, frustrated, despairing, even mad.  This is something different, though.  He's not sure what to call it.  Resigned, maybe, or shocked into numbness.  It's almost like he's dead inside already, so nothing matters to him now.  Pullo feels like he ought to do something, like maybe if he says the right words or does the right thing he can bring him back with him from this Hades of his own mind.





	Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anndy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anndy/gifts).



"Take care of the children," Vorenus says for the hundredth time. It's not a request. Pullo nods, because what else can he do? Vorenus is preparing to leave for Egypt - which might as well be the ends of the earth, as far as Pullo's concerned, from his standpoint here in Rome - and he might never come back. And his children hate him, and he has nothing left, so Pullo wouldn't put it past him to deliberately try and get himself killed, except that there's Anthony to think of. Vorenus always did have an overdeveloped sense of duty.

Anyway, the children hate their father and Pullo might have better luck with them. At any rate, he's willing to do his best. He owes Vorenus that much - not only that, but owes it to the memory of Niobe, and to his darling Eirene who died trying to bring their own child into the world. He'll do whatever he can, even if it isn't enough.

Vorenus packs his Roman clothing. Pullo remembers that Egypt was hot as a sweaty arsecrack and smelled about as good. Wool tunics will be miserable in the sand and sun. "You'll get some other clothes there," he says helpfully, and Vorenus ignores him. "Some of that ointment for fly bites would be good too," Pullo adds. "Remember how badly the flies sting?"

"If you're trying to dissuade me from going, it isn't going to work," Vorenus says, not facing him. "I tried to stop being a soldier, and I failed. This is all I'm suited for."

"Now, that's not true," Pullo protests. "You did a fine job on the Aventine - well, you were a hard boss, but everyone looked up to you. Bit crazy, maybe, but you did what needed to be done, when no one else could."

Vorenus shakes his head. Pullo's seen him in all sorts of moods - angry (often), tired, frustrated, despairing, even mad. This is something different, though. He's not sure what to call it. Resigned, maybe, or shocked into numbness. It's almost like he's dead inside already, so nothing matters to him now. Pullo feels like he ought to do something, like maybe if he says the right words or does the right thing he can bring him back with him from this Hades of his own mind.

He crosses to stand behind Vorenus, a hand's span away. The taverna's quiet for once, everyone gone off to their own corners to lick their wounds, patrons probably avoiding the place because of its ill luck. Pullo feels a chill in the air that isn't from the breeze, and knows that if he puts a hand on Vorenus now, startles him out of his daze, he could wind up in a fistfight with him, which is the last thing he wants. He imagines the spirits of the dead aren't so far away, like Eirene used to think, that they could haunt the living, curse them, bring plagues upon them if they were wronged. There have been a lot of wrongs, he thinks, and he doesn't know how to put them right. 

He does the next best thing. "Let me say goodbye, at least," he tells Vorenus, and miraculously, Vorenus listens to him. He doesn't turn around, but he leans against Pullo, his back pressed to Pullo's chest. They stay like that for a while, just breathing together. They could do more - Pullo could give him so much more, if he would only accept it - but what would that make them? There is no word for what they are to one another, nothing that allows men to love as equals.

Pullo reaches first. His hand rests on Vorenus' stomach, then ventures lower, carefully, slowly, expecting Vorenus to pull away at any moment, to curse at him, to tell him he's being a fool. He does none of those things, but takes Pullo's hand and guides it to his cock. Pullo can't see what's on his face, can't even picture it in his mind. He breathes in the scent of Vorenus, his hair, the back of his neck, drawing it into his lungs as though he can hold it there, hold him even when he's gone. 

Vorenus is stiffening in his hand, and Pullo's been hard since he leaned into him, since he even thought of this (before he'd let himself believe it might actually happen). Pullo can feel the way his breath hitches with each stroke, the way his heart pounds faster, see the sweat starting to bead at the back of his neck. He would kiss him now if he dared. He would do whatever Vorenus wants - let him fuck him, if that was what it would take for him to stay, and damn anyone who says it's unmanly to get fucked by another man. But somehow he knows whatever he could offer wouldn't be enough, or maybe that Vorenus wouldn't be able to accept it. This is simpler, even if it's not everything he wants. 

He pushes Vorenus forward so his hands splay against the wall, and carries on stroking him. Vorenus moans, and Pullo feels him go tense (more tense) when he slides his cock along the warm curve of his arse. "I won't," he says, "don't worry," and feels Vorenus relax, because he trusts him, and he knows Pullo won't do what he doesn't want. Instead Pullo rubs against him, hips working steadily. Vorenus reaches for him, fumbling behind him, and manages to guide Pullo between his legs, giving him a tight space to thrust into, soon slick with sweat and the droplets seeping from his cock. 

They push against one another, gripping each other tight, and finally shudder at the same time, or so close as makes no difference, each spreading the other with his seed. Vorenus gasps and rests his forehead against the wall, and Pullo staggers back, legs gone weak underneath him. "Come back," he pleads, "it can be like it was before," but he knows it's a lie, even before Vorenus turns to face him and the moment is lost, slipping away through his fingers like semen, gone again to Egypt or Hades or the emptiness inside himself.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
